Best Way Out

05

CHAPTER FIVE

—

"Amirah, people are staring."

"Well, of course they're staring."

"Right, I mean, dude in a dress, sure, but—"

"No, stupid." Amirah rolls her eyes, waddling around in her massive dress that almost looks like a badly dyed wedding dress. "They're not staring because you're in a dress, they're staring because I'm literally fucking stunning."

They're definitely staring because Victor's absolutely gorgeous in a dress, but she likes to lie to herself until it slowly turns into the truth. Though, frankly, she's alright with giving up her Prettiest Person To Ever Exist title if it means giving it up to Victor.

"That's one way to look at it, I guess," Victor mumbles, tugging at the zipper down the front of the dress. One more tug and he might end up breaking it, but Amirah doesn't say anything about it. She has her own nervous patterns.

And fuck, does Victor look nervous.

Twitching, fidgeting hands going from the head of the zip to the single chain around his neck, plain silver and thin enough to disappear into his skin as nothing more than a scar.

"You know you don't have to wear the dress, correct?" Gently, she nudges him, grinning at the small scowl that overtakes his mouth. He wouldn't scowl if he hated it entirely, right? "I mean, you look great, but if you're uncomfortable, we can just... I don't know, we can go change or something! I'm sure that running around in my jeans will be just as fun as running around in a dress, because— well, running around for no fucking reason is always fun, so—"

"Less uncomfortable about the stares, more uncomfortable about the fact that this dress is itchy on my balls."

"Huh." Amirah can't help the way her eyes travel down to where she assumes his balls are. "One would assume your underwear would serve as a barrier of protection between your balls and the sequins."

"Sequins are treacherous, Amirah," Victor mutters, as if he's reciting a passage from the Bible. Maybe he is, she's never really read the entirety of the Bible. "They travel. They detach themselves and slither into places that should only be touched by hands."

"Or feet, if you're feeling frisky."

Victor grimaces. "I'm really not."

"A shame."

They slip into a familiar silence.

The sea is calm. It's a bit unnerving more than anything.

Beaches have always sickened her, just slightly, but now, with her boots tightly strapped on, there isn't any vacancy for the grains of sand to slither their way into the gaps between her toes. Besides, even if the sand does manage to make its way into the shoes, her socks will keep her toes safe.

"Victor?"

"And here I was, beginning to think you were entirely checked out of reality," Victor says. The smile that dances on his lips loosens the knot of tension within her chest. "Yeah?"

"So, do I just run?"

To her, it's a valid question.

Because after all, even though she's seen this exact situation take place in the movies and in YouTube videos where a girl who looks nothing like her vows to "be spontaneous for once in her life and start working on herself!", she hasn't exactly learnt anything from those videos.